


Hurry Up and Wait

by WhyWouldIEver



Series: Hurry Up and Wait (verse) [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Civilian Eggsy Unwin, Fuck Canon, M/M, Phone Sex, Sexting, Unsolicited Dick Pics, a bit of tone shifting half way through oops, coincidentally running into the object of one’s affection as a plot device, harry is a bit lonely but all he needs is an eggsy cuddle, shades of fuckboy-esque Eggsy, terrible texting etiquette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyWouldIEver/pseuds/WhyWouldIEver
Summary: Harry receives an unsolicited dick pic. What happens next won’t actually surprise you. #clickbaitsummary





	Hurry Up and Wait

**Author's Note:**

> This AU story features a civilian!Eggsy with Harry still as a Kingsman. It’s not Golden Circle-compliant at all, but it does explore the Harry we see a bit of in that movie, a man who says he’s never been in a serious relationship because he’s given his whole life to Kingsman. So this is less of the sex god type Harry and more of a reserved, kinda lonely Harry. But all he needs is an Eggsy in his life, obviously!
> 
> No actual dick pics or videos included, so imagine something pretty.
> 
> **Bold** is Eggsy texting.  
>  _Italics_ is Harry.
> 
> **Note:** Harry goes the entire length of the story not knowing Eggsy’s name so he’s referred to as an epithet. I know epithets are the devil and all, but hopefully it works okay here. Forgive me for this sin.

Harry’s sitting in his office chair, back bent over his desk as he writes the report Merlin demanded be submitted by 10:00 the following morning, “Or so help me, Galahad. I will send you to the most boring retirement community in Florida for your next mission. Water aerobics classes every morning at 7:00 included.” He’s about half way through explaining why exactly he needed to set off three separate lighter grenades on what was supposed to be an in-and-out job when his phone buzzes next to his elbow. 

He sets down his pen and picks up the phone, _no doubt another reminder/threat from Merlin_ , he thinks. He types in his passcode and upon first glance at the text — scratch that, _texts,_ incoming all at once — he feels a rush of shocked surprise.

**[dick pic]**  
**busy? ;)**  
**Been wanting to fuck you all night**  
**[dick pic]**  
**got myself nice and hard thinkin about the way you moaned as I got my dick inside of you last time**  
**[dick pic]**  
**Made myself come thinking about your cute little arse**  


The last text is followed by a video. Harry contemplates whether he’s going to watch it for all of a second before he presses play. He can’t resist, having seen just this glimpse of an absolutely beautiful body, hard and toned. If the man had been living during the time of the Greeks, he’d have statues of Adonis sculpted from his likeness, Harry's absolutely sure of it. His pulse is thundering in his ears as the video starts and he watches the man’s hand glide in the slick along his cock, the wet sounds almost echoing forth from the speakers of Harry’s phone. He can make out the faintest little sighs and bitten off moans in the background as the hand on screen speeds up as the man chases his climax. Harry’s own breath is quickening, heat zinging up and down his spine, his cock hard in his suit as he watches the man come in pulses hitting up his stomach in wet streaks. “God,” Harry bites out, his hand clenching his phone in a tight grip. Harry rips his other hand away from where it had settled over his aching cock and leans back in his chair with a whoosh of frustrated breath. He may have pressed play on the video knowing full well that he’s not who it was meant for, but even he has limits and refuses to bring any relief to himself. He takes a few deep breaths in and out before typing a message in reply.

_As lovely as that was, I do believe you have the wrong number._

**haha fuck you bruv you know you want it**  
**you can still come over again tonight and I’ll let you sit on it**

Harry stares at the screen as he contemplates how to respond, steadfastly refusing to think about what those words bring to mind.

_I’m afraid you are mistaken._

A near instantaneous reply pops up.

**what?**

About a minute passes by as Harry awaits further response. He crosses one leg over the other in a futile attempt to relieve some pressure between his legs.

**oh god**  
**oh god I’m so fucking sorry**  
**I got a new phone today and i typed in the number wrong when I added it to my contacts it’s 53 not 35 i am so fucking sorry**

Harry replies.

_It’s quite alright. I did say it was lovely, after all._

Harry stares at the screen for what he intellectually knows are mere seconds yet expand beyond the concept of time as he wonders if he’s crossed a boundary now that the man knows he’s not who he thought he was texting in the first place.

**Yeah? You like what you see?**

_The cheek of him_ , Harry thinks, and types out his answer.

_I do._

**You wanna see more? You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.**

_I’ve just seen yours in case you’ve forgotten, but I think I’ll pass. Your intended recipient probably wouldn’t be pleased._

**mate, we ain’t together**  
**you never fucked casually?**

_It’s been a while._

**Yeah? What’s a while?**

_A while._

**So are you hot? Send me a pic.**

Harry snorts, fingers typing a quick reply.

_I still think I’ll pass. I doubt I’m what you’re looking for._

**We won’t know unless you show me...**

Harry sets his phone down on the desk, opting to withhold a response to that. _Best not to go there_ , he decides. He turns on Do Not Disturb and adamantly ignores his still interested cock, returning to his paperwork. Lest Merlin be displeased.

* * *

Harry still has the pictures and the absolutely sinful video on his phone a few weeks later, knowing full well that he should’ve deleted them the moment he first received them, or at least after his brief conversation with the man who sent them ended. He hasn’t allowed himself to look again, but he knows they’re there like a constant thrumming thought niggling at the back of his mind. He also knows the man never left another text following his, “We won’t know unless you show me” and he feels foolish for being a little disappointed.

The thing is, he’s tempted to follow through on that text. The mission he returned from earlier this evening was a smash and grab of the fast action, high adrenaline sort. The kind of mission you return home to a lover and immediately fall into bed for sex, a bit manic and sweaty in all the best ways. But Harry returned to his home quiet and empty as ever, not even Mr. Pickle around to keep him company anymore these days.

He shifts in his chair, takes a drink of his whiskey, and stares down at his dark phone screen in his lap. With a sigh, an acknowledgement that yes, he is going to do this, he opens his phone and pulls up the photos.

He stares at the first picture, eyes roaming across the screen with rapt attention at the way the man’s fingers wrap around his cock, the nails bitten, knuckles rough as if they’ve been in their fair share of fights over the years. He takes another sip of his whiskey, lets it sit on his tongue for a few burning seconds before swallowing and swipes to the next picture.

The sheen of sweat on the skin of his defined abdominals, Harry imagines his fingers dragging through the trail of hair there leading down toward the man’s cock, thick and gorgeous. _God_ , Harry wonders at the taste of it, how it would feel settled on his tongue. He thinks about how that line of hair would prickle beneath his fingertips as he touched it while he held the man down and sucked on him, felt his cock slide to the back of his throat. He licks his lips and swipes next.

His eyes zero in on the glistening pre-come on the man’s hand as it's wrapped around the thick length of his cock, now a deep shade of red. Harry’s mouth waters and he finishes off his whiskey and sets it on the table, swipes next to the video.

He stares down at the still shot of the video, a blurry view of hand on cock, and wills it to play of its own volition, remove the choice not to from Harry’s conscience. He rubs his free hand down the length of his trousers over his thigh to wipe away the sweat from his palm, tips his head back and sighs as he stares up at the ceiling above him. He looks back toward his phone and presses play.

The video leaves nothing to the imagination and is every bit as frantic as Harry remembers it. He watches as the man’s solid, youthful hand moves rapidly up and down, no longer patient enough to tease himself, wetness spreading with each swipe along the head of his cock. His pace quickens, his voice deepening in the background as he gets closer and closer to coming, finally breaking off into a bitten off moan as he hits his orgasm, thick bursts of come landing in stripes, one across that tantalizing line of hair Harry longs to touch, one higher up that ends out of view of the camera, one dripping across his belly button before the camera wobbles as the man drops it to the bed.

Harry rewinds the video back a bit and turns the volume up to maximum, holds the speaker close to his ear and hits play again. He listens as the man comes, the gasps and moans in sync with the pulsing of his cock in his fist. Harry places his own hand to his pounding heart, so turned on he can feel the back of his knees sweating. He stares down at the hard line of his cock in his trousers and makes a snap decision. _In for a penny_ , he thinks. He opens the camera on his phone.

[ _click_ ]

He stares at the picture on the screen, the way his cock is unavoidably hard, as if straining for freedom and relief from where it’s confined. He opens the chat message and stares at the last text.

**We won’t know unless you show me...**

He adds the picture, takes a deep breath with closed eyes, and hits send.

An immediate wave of adrenaline courses through his body and he stands and walks over to the cabinet to pour more whiskey into his glass, takes a deep gulp to calm his nerves and replenishes with a little more.

At the sound of a buzz, he turns back to his chair where he left his phone and sees the screen glowing with an incoming message. He returns and picks it up in haste, eyes fixed to the message on the screen.

**Fuck**

Harry waits with a pounding heart to see if there will be anything beyond that and is rewarded for his patience moments later.

**You gonna show me some more or do I gotta ask all nice?**

Harry collapses into his chair, takes another sip of whiskey, and leans back into a comfortable position, legs extended in front of him as he looks to his hard cock for guidance. “You’re doing this,” he mutters to himself, and re-opens the camera app on his phone. He takes a bit of time working out what kind of picture he wants to send next. _Does he want to go full cock out or tease some more?_ Deciding a toe dipped in is better than a full-force jump, he sets the heat of his palm across the top of his trousers directly over his cock, takes the picture, feeling momentarily like a bit of an idiot, and hits send.

**Christ you got big hands**  
**Undo the zipper now**

Harry huffs a slight laugh, but does as he’s told, sends the evidence of orders followed.

**Fuck**  
**Lower your trousers but keep your pants on**  
**Wanna see you tease yourself**

With a groan, Harry unzips his trousers and shuffles them to rest lower on his thighs, then takes another picture, this time of his hand wrapped loosely around the top of his cock over his underwear. He squeezes a bit to relieve some of the ache, biting his lip with a grunt when it only intensifies the feeling of needing to get to it already. He pulls his hand away instead and sends the picture.

**Fucking hell**  
**Touch yourself**  
**Over your pants**  
**I wanna see how turned on you can get just from that**

Harry first reaches up to undo the buttons of his shirt and pulls the two sides apart to bare the skin of his chest, the cool air of the room a welcome relief to the scorching heat of his body, then he moves his hand back to the outline of his cock trapped behind fabric, rubs the flat of his palm along in a few gentle swipes back and forth. He circles the underside of his thumb right to the base of his cockhead, grunting at the shivers that zing through his nerves at the sensation. Teasing touches follow, the tips of his fingers running from base to tip and back.

Harry has nearly forgotten the point of it all when his phone buzzes with a new message, startling him out from under the fog of simple pleasure.

**Show me**

Harry raises the camera and snaps another picture with a slightly shaking hand, noting the slight blurriness of the camera unable to focus, but sends it off anyway.

**Holy fucking shit**  
**Pull it out and let me see**

Harry drops his phone along the arm of the chair and races to free himself from his underwear, relieved as the cool air greets the blood-hot of his cock, the tip leaving a small wet trail as it bounces up against the skin of his torso. He picks up his phone, points and takes the picture, hits send.

**God**  
**Wrap your fingers around yourself but don’t move yet**  
**Send me another pic**

Harry does as instructed. At the first skin on skin touch of his fingers, he lets loose a moan that echoes in the quiet of the room, fights the urge the start stroking until he’s coming all over himself. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out through clenched teeth, fires off a fast picture and waits.

And waits.

What feels like ages passes by, his hand still wrapped around his cock, aching to move.

**Not yet**

He tilts his head against the back of his chair and practices breathing exercises intended for pain management. _Oh, he’s in pain, alright. Just not from a bullet_. He squeezes his palm just a bit to feel the pressure on his cock, but immediately regrets it when it makes him want to get to it even more. But he waits. After what feels like ages, a thought surfaces on the edge of his mind. _Why am I even waiting for permission from a complete stranger?_ _What the hell am I doing?_

His phone buzzes.

**Are you still waiting for me?**

_God, that’s why,_ he thinks. The wave of slightly embarrassed pleasure upon reading the text is something Harry thinks he could get addicted to. He sends a picture as his answer.

**Holy fuck**  
**You’re so good**  
**Go ahead and move your hand now**  
**But don’t come yet**

The first stroke of his hand up the length of his cock to the leaking head is like an ambrosia of the senses. He groans a deep sound of relief from deep within his chest, grunts as his thumb circles around the tip, over the slit, and his fingers brush up the underside of his cock. He keeps moving his hand, pulling the foreskin back as he continues stroking in a steady rhythm, his heartbeat growing in intensity, desperate to come. But he slows back down as he feels himself get too uncomfortably close. After a few more minutes of what’s descending into a feeling akin to torture, he picks up his phone and texts back for the first time that night.

_Are you touching yourself?_

He sits in anticipation for an age, a period of time that feels like eternity as he keeps stroking along his aching cock.

**No I’m at work**

Harry stops moving. A burst of cold washes over his body as he read the text. He leaves his hand wrapped around his cock, mind racing as he contemplates whether he wants to continue or block the number, jump into a cold shower, and go to sleep and pretend this never happened.

**Dw no one knows a thing**  
**Can’t even tell you how much this turned my night around bruv**  
**If you can bear waiting another 20 min or so I have a break**  
**I’d love to hear you when you come**

Harry laughs in disbelief at the idea. He takes an unsteady breath as he stares unseeing into the rest of the room, mind hyper focused on the throbbing of his cock still held in his fist.

“ **Or if you’d rather not then you can go ahead and come right now**  
**Send me a pic**

Harry thinks it over. He strokes his cock a few times, pleasure sparking back up along his nerves as the nervous rush of energy subsides. He tilts his phone up and types out a message.

_I’ll wait._

The man replies immediately.

**Fuck yes**  
**Keep teasing yourself**  
**I’ll call you**

Harry waits another eternity, teasing and touching, then backing off so he doesn’t come, over and over again, the desperation amplifying with every passing minute as he waits for his phone to ring. A call comes through twenty-seven minutes later, and Harry hits his thumb on the screen to answer, nearly dropping it in his haste, then brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Fucking coworker got back from their break late, the prick.”

Harry leans his head back and shuts his eyes as he starts moving his hand on his cock, can’t help but let out a helpless little sigh at the sound of the man’s voice speaking more than just gasps and moans for the first time.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

Harry laughs a little. “Yes.”

“Fucking hell,” he says, sounding turned on even over the phone speaker.

“Mmm,” Harry agrees, twists his hand in a particularly delightful way at the head of his cock, and moans behind his teeth.

“Lemme hear you.”

Harry moans louder, feeling a bit ridiculous but willing to give the man what he asked for, and he loses himself in the sensation of his hand moving over his cock. Minutes, hours, possibly days later, the man speaks again as Harry is finally rushing full speed to what can only be one of the most pleasurable solo orgasms of his life. 

“Don’t come yet.”

Harry groans, frustrated, but tightens his grip at the base of his cock to stave off the orgasm that was nearly there.

The man laughs in his ear. _Oh, god. That’s worth the torture,_ Harry thinks.

“Just a little longer. I want lots of good material to think about when I go back to finish my shift.”

Harry moves his hand in a stroke up his cock that feels like slow motion, only to take what surely must be twice as long to go back down. Minutes more go by with Harry only teasing himself, staring down at his flushed cock that’s throbbing, aching to come, his heart well near beating free from his chest, sweat glistening across his skin.

With a rush of breath, the man says, “You’re so fucking good. So good. Go ahead. I wanna hear you. Come now.”

“Christ,” Harry’s voice rumbles gutter deep in his chest as he finally, _finally_ chases his orgasm with permission. He jerks right at the head of his cock with his hand in a sturdy grip and comes with a moan from lips he scores his teeth into. With each pulse of his cock another helpless moan breaks free until he gasps and releases himself, already over-sensitive from working his cock for so long.

“Holy fuck, that was hot,” the man says, sounding floored.

Harry laughs a little, flushing as he starts to come to his senses.

“Fuck. I gotta go back inside. This was fun.”

“Mmm,” Harry murmurs. He wipes the come on his hand onto the skin of his abdomen and reaches for his neglected whiskey. He presses the cool glass to his burning cheeks, then finishes off the drink with a gulp.

“We should do this again sometime,” the man says.

Harry laughs. “We’ll see.”

* * *

Harry’s half-way across the world on a mission when the next text comes through one afternoon about a week later.

**Can I call you?**

_Busy at the moment._

Harry waits for a response, but gets none, so he fires off one more text to clarify.

_If it’s any consolation, I won’t be able to think of much else now. You could text me something to look at later._

Still no answer, and Harry has to go wreak havoc on a drug smuggling ring, so he puts his phone away to return to when he’s finished.

Hours after blowing up a warehouse, taking twelve bullets to his suit, and stomping on the hand of the shooter, followed by a thorough kicking of his arse, Harry finally opens his phone and is greeted by a series of messages, some pictures, others simply texts.

**I heard your voice on the phone that day and I was like fuck this guy sounds posh.**  
**All you posh blokes is secret perverts, I bet**  
**[dick pic]**  
**Thats okay I clearly don’t mind**  
**I should’ve recorded that call so I could listen to the sound of you coming over and over again**  
**I didn’t delete those pics sorry**  
**Been looking at them**  
**thinking about getting my mouth on you**  
**thinking about what that monster would feel like inside of me**  
**[dick pic]**  
**I’m real flexible you know**  
**Did gymnastics growing up**  
**You think I can suck my own dick?**  
**You wanna see for yourself if it’s possible?**  
**I’d probably let you if you ask nice**

The last message Harry received is one of the man’s cock, still flushed and hard, his hand covered in come resting on his abdomen. Harry stares at the picture for an inordinate amount of time, reads the last text that follows, his blood racing.

**If you were here I’d make you lick this clean.**

Harry can’t bring himself to delete any of the pictures, and the fact that this gorgeous creature kept his photos as well eases some of Harry’s own guilt at refusing to do so. He writes back only one word, “ _Beautiful_ ” then deletes it, opting for a less emotionally bare reply.

_I enjoyed that very much, thank you._

* * *

Later the following week, a call comes through in the early hours of the morning. Having added the number to his contacts under the name _Aengus —_ the Celtic god of youth and beauty, which the Merlin that pops up unbidden in his head laughs at him for — Harry answers with a sleepy, rumbled, “Hello?”

The only response he receives is that of heavy breathing, small, hitching little gasps that make it clear exactly what he’s hearing. He stares up into the early morning darkness of his bedroom as he imagines what the man must look like in that moment. Is he in his own bed or is he somewhere a little less private? Is that why he’s so uncharacteristically quiet? He listens, never uttering a word for fear of breaking the built-up atmosphere, and strains to hear each and every movement the man makes. The squeak of springs in what Harry realizes must be a bed as he shifts around, the panting breath, the faint slick sounds of his hand moving on his cock. The man moans quietly as he comes, Harry picturing his heaving chest, and the gorgeous tightening of his abs with each pulse of his cock until the man speaks again.

“Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did,” he says with a smirk audible in his voice, then promptly hangs up.

Harry stares up at the ceiling before heaving himself up out of bed and into the shower for the day. Kill two birds, and all that.

* * *

Of course, Harry’s life being the tragedy that it always is, the whole thing comes crashing down around him one Tuesday afternoon when he actually finds himself with a bit of free time for once. He makes a full day of it, wandering around a new exhibit at a museum for a few hours in the morning, followed by a meandering walk through the park to enjoy a rare bit of sunny weather. He stops in at a local shop for a late lunch only to be greeted by the sound of a laugh that has grown all too familiar by now.

He stares at the man responsible and finds himself frozen to the spot in dismay. This man, the object of Harry’s every fantasy for the last few weeks, he can’t be more than twenty-five years old at a push, and he’s standing not fifteen feet away. _Adonis_ , Harry scoffs, _Aengus_ , they both have nothing on the beauty of the man standing before him. The sunshine of his hair, the chiseled definition of his perfect jawline, the fucking dimples as he laughs at whatever the person he’s talking to must have said. Harry is stunned still where he stands as his eyes soak in every detail of the man that can possibly be absorbed from head to toe. Harry’s eyes flit back up to the man’s eyes only to see them pinned right on him, a smirk on his lips, eyebrow cocked in question.

Harry gives a polite nod and smile, having been caught staring, and turns to leave the shop. _I should’ve stayed in bed_ , he thinks as he walks in the general direction of his home, then hails a taxi.

He spends the rest of the day refusing to have a peek at the photos and videos on his phone in order to match them up to the rest of what he knows about the man now. Instead, he deep cleans his house, cooks a magnificently over the top dinner for one, and settles down for a nightcap and early turn in to bed. He’s only just fallen asleep when his phone rings on the bedside table. For a few brief milliseconds, Harry humors himself that he’ll not answer it, that he’ll put a stop to this now. He knew from the pictures of the man’s body that he was younger than Harry by quite a few years, but such an age difference is surely insurmountable. What would they have in common? What could they even talk about with Harry living the life that he does? Surely, the man wouldn’t be attracted to Harry if he knew how vast the age difference really was.

He reaches for his phone and answers right before the last ring goes to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“I was thinking about you today,” the man says. “About all the things I wanna do to you.”

There’s an odd sound to the call, as if the man is talking from farther away than usual, and then Harry realizes, “Am I on speakerphone?”

The man laughs, voice veering toward a little breathless, “Yeah, got one hand on my dick and the other with three fingers in my arse. Had the house all to myself for once, so I thought I’d make the best of it, yeah?”

Harry lay in stunned silence as the images that information brings to mind flit one by one in fast motion behind his eyes.

“I wanna fuck you,” the man continues, unaware of the recent downward trajectory of Harry’s thoughts. “Maybe put a cock ring on that thing, make you wait ‘til I get mine before you can come.”

Harry listens to his fantasies, each and every hitched breath and ragged moan, tries to parse out the various sounds farther in the background, the squeaking bed, the slick sound of his hand on his cock, and Harry desperately tries to imagine he can hear the sound of the man’s fingers moving inside of himself.

“I wanna sit on your dick,” the man says, “lean my back to your chest and move my hips all slow, torturing you with it, feel you inside of me as deep as you can get, your hand on my dick, makin’ me feel so good.” His voice grows more and more frantic with each word, almost as if he doesn’t even know he’s speaking them, just thoughts vocalized without his knowledge because he’s so far gone.

Harry forcefully sits up in bed, refusing to even humor his stiff cock. He digs his toes into the rug beneath his feet, clenches his jaw for a moment then loosens it to speak. “I want that too,” he murmurs, giving in. “I want to wrap my arms around you, touch and tease you until you’re desperate to come, turn your face to mine and kiss you when you do so that I feel your every panted breath against my lips.”

“Oh, fuck,” the man grunts, the sound of him coming so distinctive to Harry now. He laughs when he’s finished, that delighted euphoria of an orgasm twinkling through bright for Harry to hear.

They end the call and Harry settles onto his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the guilt builds to bursting in his chest. He turns over to pick up his discarded phone and types out a brief text.

_You’re beautiful._

**Thanks mate you too (Face With Tears Of Joy )**

_I saw you at the shop today. I recognised your voice when you laughed. I didn’t mean to go on without telling you, I just didn’t know what to say or how to approach you about it. I shouldn’t have continued with the phone call knowing that now, but you’re absurdly difficult to turn down._

He hits send on the text and wills a quick response, even if it’s a brutal, “Fuck off.” Anything to get it over and done with so Harry can move on with his life, go back to the way it was just weeks prior when all he cared about was his next assignment.

**Holy fuck**  
**Was that you in the suit?**  
**All posh with perfect hair looking at me like you wanted to sit on my face and see exactly how good I could make you feel?**

Harry presses his forehead into his phone as relief washes over him. Surely a response like that means this beautiful creature of a man is okay with a dirty, old pervert like Harry panting after him. If there's a chance for something here, Harry simply must take it. They can figure out the rest as they go.

_Presumably._

**Holy fuck**

_Indeed._

Harry sits, toes twitching a nervous back and forth beneath the duvet as he waits for further response.

**Well**  
**I work tomorrow, off at 8.**  
**why don’t you come by and take me to dinner as penance for staring at me like a perv and then bolting without telling me? (Winking Face )**  
**Ill suck you off wherever you want after**

Harry flops down to the bed, free arm sprawled off to his side as he stares up at the ceiling before an idea pops into his head. His lips quirk into a half smile as he writes out his reply.

_Or?_

**????**

Harry waits, smile growing broad and happy.

**or...we could dry kiss it goodnight and take it slow?**

_Not what I had in mind._

**We could… never speak again?**

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes fondly at the audacity of this beautiful man thinking Harry would ever turn him away when it should clearly be the other way around.

_Also not what I had in mind. Dinner, and then?_

He waits, one second, five, ten, and then his phone buzzes.

**or you could take me back to yours. I’ll fuck you on your probably ridiculously expensive sheets.**  
**I wanna hear you make all them sounds in my ear as I fuck you.**

_Deal._

**Fuck**  
**The fuck is your name anyway?**

Harry laughs, bewildered that they truly have got this far without even sharing names with each other.

_Harry._  
_Harry Hart._

**Well Harry, Harry Hart, I’m Eggsy**

_There’s a story there._

**yeah and you’ll have to wait to find out what it is tomorrow night**

_Can’t wait._

**Me fucking too.**

Harry smiles as he changes the name under the contact from the admittedly ridiculous _Aengus_ to _Eggsy_.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Apologies for Americanisms. Thank you for reading!


End file.
